McGee's bad day
by OzGeek
Summary: You think you've had a bad day? McGee gets the works. Oneshot. Spoilers for season 4 but not seriously, just helps you understand the depths of his misery.


McGee huffed in frustration as he up-ended the empty dinosaur cereal box. There were many downsides to having your sister staying overnight. Like, for example: waxing kits on your bathroom floor to trip over, clothes littering the apartment and no hot water in the shower. She had used up the last of his Femme Glow and now his skin was flaking and itchy. Her helpful washing load yesterday had combined his shirts and her brand new pink top so that his choice of apparel this morning resembled the tie-dye wardrobe of a drug-crazed 70s hippy. He considered calling Ziva so he could co-ordinate with her rainbow jumper.

His most traumatic moment, however, was when the battery ran out in his electric toothbrush and he was convinced he couldn't brush his teeth. When the panic surge had receded, he had an epiphany: he could brush his teeth the manual way! He still felt better making the noises but if he ever needed to go on one of those survivor programs, he now felt prepared for the most primitive of conditions.

He reached for his cell and found a note in its place. Apparently his sister had 'borrowed' it because hers was lost when she threw it at someone who had inexplicably yelled "why were the goldfish in the park?". He sighed: the day could only get better. Choosing his favourite jacket – the newly repaired Armani one, he headed for the door.

His stoic optimism threatened to wane when he found his Porsche up on blocks without its wheels. Sighing, he reached for his cell to call the police and swore: he'd have to use his landline back at the apartment. A quick check of his pockets revealed the inevitable: the keys were still in inside.

He took a deep breath. This was no big deal, there was always the bus. It wasn't far to the bus stop. No problem, so long as those threatening clouds just passed on by.

And so McGee stood at the bus stop in the pouring rain looking through the window of the local bookshop at the piles of "Deep Six" in the two dollar bin while his favourite jacket greedily absorbing the pink hues leaching from his shirt. The first bus was too crowded to even consider stopping. The second one stopped but only out of spite: there was no actual room. He found himself crushed hard against an alcoholic with a serious body odour problem.

Reaching his desk late, wet, pink-tinged and grumpy, he snatched up the phone to call the police.

"You're late," Gibbs informed him.

"I know boss my car.."

"Get your gear."

"Yes Boss"

"What happened to your jacket?"

* * *

"This Navy guy was a bit of a recluse," the local LEO started.

"You mean he was a complete psycho?" Tony clarified.

"If by 'psycho' you mean lived alone on a poison ivy decorated boat in the middle of a lake with only his 20 cats for company: then yes, he was a complete psycho. You'll find his maggot ridden body on the lower deck."

"McGee!"

* * *

Sneezing constantly, eyes red and swollen, skin adorned with wild red welts, McGee fought to keep down the nausea from the seas sickness as he photographed the rotting corpse. As is common in their kind, the felines were instantly attracted to his allergies and surrounded him like a histamine-inducing electron cloud tracking his every move. The maggots crawling over the body were icing on the cake: crawly, flesh eating icing. He looked up as Gibbs came on board.

"McGee?"

"Yes boss," he croaked, dodging another cat.

"Tony found the weapon in the woods, why don't you join him there."

"Thanks boss."

* * *

He came across Tony flirting with the most attractive female ranger he had ever set eyes on. She had it all: looks, charm, grace, intelligence, that 'what the hell is that' look in her eyes. Oh wait, that was just reserved for him.

"This is my assistant: Igore," Tony introduced.

She extended her hand then withdrew it, thinking better of touching him.

"Hi," he mumbled miserably squinting to see through the globs of conjunctivitis coagulating across his eyes.

"Gun's that way," she waved him off almost hiding behind Tony.

Tony excused himself. "I think my trusty sidekick might need a guide dog," he joked, "by the way, Probie, watch out for that.. " SPLAT! "Pile of half eaten oranges a group of campers left here yesterday."

McGee slithered off the mound, the acidic juices burning through his already itching skin. "Thanks Tony." He picked up the camera and hoped it knew where the gun was because there was no way he was going to find it with these eyes. Finally, he gave up, removed the camera strap from his neck and handed everything to Tony.

"I gotta go, ah , relived myself," he mumbled.

"Just don't do it where I can see you," Tony warned, taking up the camera.

"What about here?"

"Too close."

"Here?"

"Keep going."

So intent was McGee on stomping through the undergrowth that he entirely missed the sign warning him of abandoned mine shafts. "What about heeeeeeeeeeer….."

Suddenly he was plummeting headlong down a large cavern lined with sharp rocks and covered in foul-smelling slime. He landed with a thick thump and sank slowly into the soft putrid ground. It took a moment to get his bearings then he extracted himself from the gluey substance and looked up. It was a long, long way to the surface.

"Tony?"

Silence.

He sighed and reached for his gun, feeling the tattered remains of his ex-favourite newly-pink jacket as he found it. He paused: which way to shoot? Shooting to the sides would only result in a bullet ricocheting into him. Shooting up would hit anyone looking over the rim to save him. Given his luck today, shooting up would probably bring down a passing aircraft. He decided on the floor; it was pliant and absorbent.

The sound of the single gunshot reverberated around the cavern and suddenly he was beset by thousands of fruit bats, thrilled at having a 6 foot 1 inch orange visit their home. Their razer-sharp, probably rabies-infested teeth, forcing him back into the gooey foul-smelling ground where he rolled to deaden the citrus scent. Finally defeated, the mob flew off through the gaping entrance hole.

"Probie?"

"Down here."

"You OK?"

"Define OK."

"Anything broken?"

"No, nothing broken. Bruised, shredded, bitten and covered in something revolting but nothing broken."

"Hold on."

It took half an hour before he was finally winched to the surface. His three rescuers were all wearing the same "don't go near me" expression.

"You're not coming in the car like that," Gibbs warned.

"I'm walking back?"

"Nope, you're going in the river."

"But it's nearly frozen over this time of year."

"River, now."

"Wait," cried the ranger. "You can't do that!"

"Thank you," McGee heaved a relieved sigh.

"He's covered in guano – bat excrement, it's very valuable. We use it for fertilizing organic produce. I need to scrape it off first." She flicked out her pen knife: "especially that large chunk on your crotch."

"Thinking of changing religions?" Tony asked lightly.

"Which way to the river?"

* * *

McGee shivered as he sat naked in the car wrapped in only a single woollen blanket. His eyes had started to clear now that the cats were only a distant memory allowing him to fully appreciate the itchy red welts from the poison ivy and the accompanying crusty red rash of his wool allergy, all smothered in a red blood sauce from where his bat bites were bleeding. His clothes lay in a sodden pink mass outside the car.

"I need to give you this."

He looked up to see the ranger sporting the largest hyperdermic syringe he had ever seen. "You're going to put me down?"

She laughed a little too manically. "No, bat bites are a leading cause of rabies in the United States. I have to give you a few shots now and then you get five more over the next month. It might make you feel a little unwell."

"Not used to that," he muttered grimly, investigating the source of a sharp pain in his finger. "Damn, I've torn a cuticle again."

"Got your manicurist on speed dial, Probie?" Tony asked jumping into the passenger seat and tucking the ranger's phone number into his top pocket.

"Wouldn't help: my sister has my phone."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I had to film your little ice bath on my phone."

"Tony!"

* * *

Back in the squad room, McGee was trying to look on the bright side of his day. Bright side 1: the Aqua Smurf outfit was cotton and didn't irritate his tortured skin. Bright side 2: there were only 7 more hours to go and this day would be over. Bright side 3:……nope: empty.

Abby bounced over to him saying soothingly, "McGee, do you need a hug? Tony said you had a bad AHHHHH!" She stood staring at him.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, just trying to find Gibbs." She backed off warily, keeping him in sight.

McGee sighed as his terminal made a popping noise and smoke began to curl from the box. The fever from the rabies jabs was starting to take over and he just wanted to go home. He searched for his car keys then swore at the futileness of the activity. There was no car. A ride home in a bus wearing surgical greens would just complete his day nicely. Not that he could get into his apartment. His shoulders slumped.

"McGee," Ziva started sympathetically, "can I give you a ride home? I can pick your lock if you like."

McGee smiled a relived smile. "That would be fantastic, thanks."

"Great! The car's just got back from the mechanics; they beefed up the engine for me."

McGee's eyes slid around the room from Tony to Abby to Gibbs and finally back to Ziva. Well, he'd found a third bright side: death would make the day shorter.

"Let's go."


End file.
